Seizure(36)

“Of course!” Hi’s face was flushed with excitement. “Mary is telling Anne that her prison cell is close to the treasure tunnel!”

Clickity click! “Maybe they used the tunnel to bust Bonny out?”

“Son of a gun.” Shelton stared, thunderstruck. “Tory, you’re a genius.”

“These letters confirm everything!” Hi broke out a dance move—the Cabbage Patch. “Bonny’s treasure is buried beneath East Bay Street, somewhere near the old docks!”

“And we should look for the tunnels near that dungeon, Half-Moon Battery.” Shelton joined Hi by doing the Soulja Boy.

“We did it!” Hi crowed. “We figured out where Anne Bonny buried her treasure! Holy shnikies!”

“Just a second!” Ben’s voice halted the dance party. “Those are huge assumptions you’re making.”

“Ben’s right,” I said. “We don’t even know what Half-Moon Battery is. But first things first—we need to authenticate these letters.”

“Thank you,” Ben said. “Let’s not embarrass ourselves again.”

“How?” Shelton asked. “You got a rare document expert on speed dial?”

“The treasure map.” Hi unrolled our stolen booty. “Let’s compare the handwriting in these letters to the verses on the map.”

“Good idea.” I placed a page on either side of the map, one penned by Bonny, the other by Read.

Mary’s block-letter style was clearly not a match.

But Anne Bonny’s bold, curling script, sweeping the page in aggressive, slashing strokes …

“The writing looks an awful lot alike,” Shelton said.

“Yep,” Hi agreed.

Ben nodded.

“We may be onto something,” I said. “But we need to be absolutely sure.”

“How?” Shelton asked.

“Leave that to me!” Hi beamed. “I know just the man for the job.”





“HOW’D YOU FIND this place?” I asked.

Before us, eight stone columns flanked the entrance to a massive stone building. The roof was at least forty feet above our heads.

“And who’s responsible for this behemoth?” Shelton’s head was craned back as he spoke. “It’s ginormous.”

“Methodists.” Hi scrolled on his iPhone. “Pre–Civil War. The website says, ‘The Karpeles Manuscript Museum is housed in a grand and bold Greek Revival structure of the Corinthian order, styled after the Temple of Jupiter in Rome.’”

“Okay,” Ben said. “That fits.”

The colossal edifice was definitely shooting for the Greek-temple look.

“Are we set?” I asked. “This guy will help us?”

Hi nodded. “He’s a document whiz. My mother had him trace our family tree.”

“Remember, no one utters the phrase ‘treasure map.’ We’re only showing him the two lines we photocopied.”

The main doors led into a cavernous chamber resembling a courtroom. White columns lined walls edged with decorative friezes. Corner windows stretched from floor to ceiling. Rows of pews marched from the entrance to an open central area, where glass display cases surrounded a long wooden table. Beyond, against the rear wall, a low wooden divider encircled a stone pulpit.

The room was outsized and majestic, reflecting its past as a congregational hall. It made me feel very, very small.

“Mr. Stolowitski?” a prim voice called. “Is that you?”

“Yes, Dr. Short. Thanks for agreeing to see me on such short notice.”

A compact man, Short wore tweed pants and a blue wool sweater. Tiny round glasses rested halfway down his nose. Snaggletoothed, with thinning brown hair, the guy was no beauty.

Short’s lips twitched in what might’ve been a half smile. “To be honest, Hiram, I’m not sure I did agree. But, here you are.”

“Yes, well,” Hi stammered, “I’m sure you’ll find this interesting. Thanks again. Sir.”

“These are your friends?” Short dipped his shoulders in a slight bow. “Dr. Nigel Short. Assistant director, museum historian, and resident forensic document examiner.”

“Tory Brennan.”

“Shelton Devers.”

“Ben.”

“Shall we get to it?” Short gestured with perfectly manicured fingers. “Place the documents on the table, then please stand aside. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Turning on a heel, he strode in the opposite direction and disappeared through a doorway.

“He’s prickly, but everyone swears he’s the best,” Hi whispered. “Trust me.”

I laid out Bonny’s two-page letter, then a photocopy of a pair of lines from the treasure map:

Down, down from Lady Peregrine’s roost,

Begin thy winding to the dark chamber’s sluice.

“Anyone have a clue what ‘the dark chamber’s sluice’ might be?” Hi asked.

“One thing at a time,” I said. “Here comes your guy.”

Short was wearing white linen gloves and carrying a small bundle. Noting the photocopy, he frowned.

“What’s this? A reproduction? You said the articles were originals.”